The Castle of Llyr by Lloyd Alexander

stormy sea had been frozen motionless. Another chamber held massive piles of rock and tall mounds that had taken the fanciful shapes of unmoving clouds.
    Here the toiling companions rested a moment, for the path had narrowed and grown more difficult. The air was heavy, stagnant as swamp water, and chilled them to the bone. Taran urged them to their feet once again, anxious to find a tunnel leading upward, but fearing more and more that their search would be long and painful. A glance at the bard’s face told Taran that Fflewddur shared his fears.
    â€œI say, there’s an odd thing,” called Rhun, pointing to a tumble of rock.
    It was, indeed, one of the strangest shapes Taran had seen in the cavern, for it looked like a hen’s egg sticking halfway out of a nest. The stone was white, smooth, and somewhat pointed at the top, crusted here and there with patches of lichen, and stood nearly as tall as Taran himself. What at first resembled a nest was a tangled, discolored fringe of coarse strands that seemed to balance on the edge of a sharp drop.

    â€œAmazing!” called Rhun, who had insisted on striding closer to peer at it. “This isn’t a rock at all!” He turned in surprise to the companions. “This is unbelievable, but it’s almost like …”
    Taran seized the astonished Rhun and dragged him backward so abruptly the Prince nearly went head over heels. Gurgi yelped in terror. The shape had begun to move.
    Two colorless eyes appeared, in a face pale as a dead fish; the eyebrows glittered with flecks of crystal; moss and mold edged the long, flapping ears and spread over the beard that sprouted below a lumpy nose.
    Swords drawn, the companions huddled against the jagged wall. The huge head continued to rise and Taran saw it wobble on a skinny neck. A choking noise bubbled in the creature’s throat as it cried, “Puny things! Tremble before me! Tremble, I tell you! I am Glew! I am Glew!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    King of the Stones
    G urgi flung himself to the ground, covered his head with his hands, and whimpered piteously. The creature threw a long, spindly leg over the ledge and began slowly drawing himself upright. He was more than thrice as tall as Taran, and his flabby arms dangled below a pair of knobby, moss-covered knees. With a lopsided gait he shambled toward the companions.
    â€œGlew!” Taran gasped. “But I was sure …”
    â€œIt can’t be,” whispered Fflewddur. “Impossible! Not little Glew! Or if it is, I certainly got the wrong impression of him.”
    â€œTremble!” the quavering voice cried again. “You shall tremble!”
    â€œGreat Belin!” muttered the bard, who was indeed shaking so much he had almost dropped his blade, “I don’t need to be told!”
    The giant bent, shaded his white eyes against the light of the bauble, and peered at the companions. “Are you really trembling?” he asked in an anxious voice. “You’re not doing it just to be obliging?”
    Gurgi, meantime, had ventured to lift his hands from his face, but the sight of the creature towering above him made him clap
them back again and set him to wailing louder than ever. Prince Rhun, however, recovering from his first shock, studied the monster with great curiosity. “I say, this is the first I’ve seen anyone with toadstools growing in his beard,” he remarked. “Did he do it on purpose or did it just happen that way?”
    â€œIf that’s the Glew we know,” said the bard, “he’s changed remarkably.”
    The giant’s pale eyes widened. What would have been a smile on a face of ordinary size became a grin that stretched longer than Taran’s arm. Glew blinked and stooped closer.
    â€œYou’ve heard of me then?” he asked eagerly.
    â€œIndeed we have,” put in Rhun. “It’s amazing, but we thought Llyan …”
    â€œPrince Rhun!”